| Author: | Russ Victorian | ISBN: | 9781311828507 |
| Publisher: | Russ Victorian | Publication: | October 14, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Russ Victorian |
| ISBN: | 9781311828507 |
| Publisher: | Russ Victorian |
| Publication: | October 14, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
The plot of this mother living alone with her baby child in the Northwood’s is fictional, yet hardly unbelievable as its occurrence is almost certainly frequent. But the death of the baby, and the enduring story of the mother’s battle to deal with her loss, takes a twist through the dark pines like a tale told while seated around a bonfire late at night. There was a forest where twice I heard the sound of a crying baby in the moonlit hours. It may have been an animal. But the sound drew me in. I found myself deep in a cedar swamp. I took photographs as I stumbled through it. In one photograph, a strange apparition appeared. I have been shooting photography for many years. I am familiar with white spots on my photos, but in this case, there was no way to explain it. And ever since, I choose to identify with this unexplainable apparition as my sighting of the Crying Baby Ghost. Believe what you will, but the story you are about to read is something I kept inside me for years. I picked it up that day while wandering about the dark swamp. It connected its self to me like the seed of a wildflower or that of a weed. It grew inside me for years until the 22nd of January 2012, when I could no longer keep the story inside me. This short story touches on the extremely sad and tender moments when a mother loses a child. I just want people to know this before they continue reading in case this type of material causes you distress.
The plot of this mother living alone with her baby child in the Northwood’s is fictional, yet hardly unbelievable as its occurrence is almost certainly frequent. But the death of the baby, and the enduring story of the mother’s battle to deal with her loss, takes a twist through the dark pines like a tale told while seated around a bonfire late at night. There was a forest where twice I heard the sound of a crying baby in the moonlit hours. It may have been an animal. But the sound drew me in. I found myself deep in a cedar swamp. I took photographs as I stumbled through it. In one photograph, a strange apparition appeared. I have been shooting photography for many years. I am familiar with white spots on my photos, but in this case, there was no way to explain it. And ever since, I choose to identify with this unexplainable apparition as my sighting of the Crying Baby Ghost. Believe what you will, but the story you are about to read is something I kept inside me for years. I picked it up that day while wandering about the dark swamp. It connected its self to me like the seed of a wildflower or that of a weed. It grew inside me for years until the 22nd of January 2012, when I could no longer keep the story inside me. This short story touches on the extremely sad and tender moments when a mother loses a child. I just want people to know this before they continue reading in case this type of material causes you distress.
